


chemical reactions (or is it emotion?)

by electricwaves



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Dream Smp, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Issues, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Memory Loss, Morally Ambiguous Character, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, SBI family dynamics, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Trauma, and people actually come, fictional characters, sbi, tommy throws a party, why ghostbur hisses in the rain and snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricwaves/pseuds/electricwaves
Summary: The one where Ghostbur acknowledges the fact that he remembers, but chooses to forget.The thing about Ghostbur was that he lied a lot. He lied to everyone around him.He lied to himself the most.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	chemical reactions (or is it emotion?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itisjosh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/gifts), [cococape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cococape/gifts).



> for josh and coco because they main in sleepytwt and i want to cause them pain :)

The thing about Ghostbur was that he lied a lot. He lied to everyone around him. 

He lied to himself the most.

Masks are worn to make the user feel safer. Separated. Distant. Dream wore his mask to protect himself—from what exactly, nobody really knew, but the point still stood. Even though Dream was disliked by nearly everyone, Ghostbur could sympathize with him. He himself was a giant facade; it had come to the point where lines between fact and fiction grew blurred. _If you lie enough to yourself,_ he vaguely remembered Technoblade saying once when they were supposedly younger and free, _you will take it as truth._ Like most of the things his best friend said, Ghostbur took it to heart. He said he didn’t remember the bad in his life; and maybe a part of him didn’t, or perhaps refused to, but the larger part of him remembered it all.

Memories from when he was truly alive were just _too much._ He felt as if his mind was nothing but a broken mirror, each shard that held a fragment of his past life shining with the burden of responsibility and emotion. He looked in the glass only to see his sunken reflection sulking back at him, all ashy skin and purple bags dragging at his empty eyes and floppy brown locks and chapped lips that either formed a wavering line or a twisted, superficial smile that presented as genuine and sheepish. Where were the rosy cheeks and honey sweaters and songs dripping of promise and hope? Where was the navy outfit that screamed subversion and revolution, the square shoulders that rang of resolution, the steady rhythm of each purposeful footstep he left in L’Manbergian soil? Ghostbur was left only to pick up the pieces; his hands raw and his scars reopened. Could anybody really blame him for trying to fill in the cracks with his own truths and memories, however flawed and distorted they were?

_I melt in the snow and the rain_ , Ghostbur had said. Nobody questioned him. They didn’t know how ghosts worked. He was a ghost, he would know. But did they know _why_? Out of all things, why was the snow and the rain Ghostbur’s weakness? Why not fire? Why not an actual sword? Or an axe, perhaps?

Water holds memory. Water is eternal. Water is the past, present, and future.

When the heavens cry and let down pouring storms or flurries of snow, it spews out glistening diamonds. Within each one are facets bearing war and friendship, love and hate, agony and peace—and oh, how it _ached._ The water underneath New L’Manberg turned into rain that was an unrelenting barrage of reminiscences. Ghostbur could feel his mask chipping away with each drop, leaving a stinging nostalgic hiss every single time one pelted his skin. 

_There was once a special place._

Drip.

_Phil. I’m so close to pressing this button, Phil._

Drop.

_There was a saying, Phil. By a traitor once part of L’Manberg._

_It was never meant to be._

Drip.

_MY L’MANBERG._

_MY UNFINISHED SYMPHONY, FOREVER UNFINISHED._

Drop.

_KILL ME, PHIL._

Drip.

The only good thing about the rain was that it washed away his tears.

* * *

Wilbur— _Alivebur_ —had decided long ago how his personal sliver of the world worked. 

Tommy was the sun, bright and boisterous and so full of energy that it spilled over, leaving behind life and laughter wherever his erratic footsteps went. Those who felt his warmth always wished to stick around, despite the burns they would receive as a result. 

Tubbo was the moon, brightest in the darkest of times to illuminate paths once hidden and lost. He emitted a glow that bathed everything around in silver comfort and a quiet sort of clarity. Tommy and Tubbo were each other’s yin and yang, inseparable at best, and insufferable at worst. 

Philza was the North Star, forever constant within the fabric of the universe, acting as a beacon of light for those led astray. Reliable, strong, scintillating, and a protector of travellers—that was Phil, alright. It was only fitting for him to don a pair of palatial wings made of feathers that matched the pigment of a thunderstorm, the epitome of a guardian angel, both terrifying and great and beautiful in a way that made your heart pound and knees shake.

Technoblade was Mars, as in the planet and the Roman god. The scorching tug he felt when the smell of clashing metal and spilled blood carried through the breeze was something to never be ignored, like an incurable itch he could never quite satiate until pain overtook his senses. His plaited hair and the stains decorating his sword paralleled the tints of the planet’s dust, a mix of faded scarlet and salmon and murky purples and blacks. Mars’ thin atmosphere was weak and didn’t allow for much heat to stick around. Technoblade was much the same; he never let anybody be by his side for too long. Letting go was infinitely easier than staying. And yet... he always somehow came back home to them.

Wilbur himself was a constellation. He was everywhere and nowhere at once, portions of him continually dying and exploding and violently sputtering to life. He was strewn about like a forgotten toy to be found and admired. Some found familiarity in his chaos, smiling and pointing as they discovered the patterns their ancestors had mapped out long ago, others ignorant of these celestial mosaics and instead bestowing him with simple minds and simpler gazes. It was funny how they made sense out of absolute discord, (or at least, tried to), but they were far too cowardly to face his hunger for destruction alongside the beauty of it all—and, well, Wilbur couldn’t blame them. It was a wonder how four other people were able to handle him. It was a wonder how they managed to handle each other.

And so, altogether, it was an odd, rag-tag group of five: Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Technoblade, and Phil. They were their own solar system. Unstable at times, sure, yet they never strayed too far away from each other. Some might call it gravity, but it was always by choice. That was how it worked.

_Was._

“Ghostbur?” Tommy flailed around an eager hand to try and catch the ghost’s attention. “Are you here? Hello?”

He cleared his throat, realizing the teen had stopped rambling a while ago. How long had he been staring outside the window for? Ghostbur rushed to draw the curtains on his flurry of annoyingly intrusive thoughts and adjust his mask. “I’m here, Tommy. I’m here! Sorry about that,” he said, his light, fluttery voice and sweet smile back in place. Ghostbur gestured towards the glass, “I got distracted by the snow.” What was he even thinking about just now? Something about the universe? 

“You’re a strange man, you know that?”

Oh, whatever. The thoughts were probably unimportant. “I’m not a man, Tommy. I’m a ghost!” 

Tommy shrugged, sipping at his hot chocolate with a smirk. “That you are,” he said, his mouth full and eye sparkling, the crackling fireplace behind their chairs reflected in his arctic gaze. Ghostbur didn’t think he would ever get used to the gaping hole that was Tommy’s other eye. How had he even lost it, again? “Anyways, Ghostbur. Were you even fucking listening to what I was saying or not?”

“Not really... Can you repeat it all?” Ghostbur’s hollow gaze followed Tommy’s hand as the teen settled the cup with a gentle thud. 

“I’m way too lazy for that. To put it simply, I was just wondering if you had, um—I was just, you know, wondering if you’d checked in on the others yet. My Christmas party is in about six hours.” Tommy’s smile grew slightly bitter at the edges, “Don’t want my invites getting fucked up again. Would be a damn shame if all my food went to waste.”

A memory clogged Ghostbur’s throat with ash and sand and the pang of disappointment, pressing at all of his insides and begging to be let out. The words of a younger Tommy rang in his head. _Why did nobody come, Ghostbur?_ He glanced at the snow once more, the memory slowly dying back down. “It would be, especially since I helped make some of it! I don’t think anybody would ever want to miss any of your parties, Tommy.” He didn’t overlook the way Tommy’s knuckles turned white as his fingers curled into fists.

“That’s very true, Ghostbur. Very true. So?”

“So?” Ghostbur blinked. “Oh, right!” He faced Tommy with a careful grin. “I haven’t gone to visit the others yet, you’re the first one. But I will as soon as I’m ready to leave. Do you need help with anything?”

Tommy shook his head, picking up the hot chocolate and downing it all in one go. “I’m good. You should go ahead.”

“If you say so,” he said, rubbing his hands together to ready himself for the trek to Techno’s house. It was the closest to Tommy’s, but it wasn’t exactly _close_ by any means. Ghostbur reached into his pockets and raised his open hand. “I know you’re stressed, so here! Calm yourself, Tommy. Have some Blue.” 

The blond reached out for the cerulean tufts, accepting the Blue with a nod before discarding it onto the table. It was a much deeper hue. _Oh my_ , Ghostbur thought with a frown. _This won’t do_. Tommy gave him a few hearty smacks on the shoulder while offering what was probably a wink, it was hard to tell when the boy only had one eye, for crying out loud. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a wink back, “of course you will!” 

“Right. Bye, Ghostbur.”

“Bye!” Ghostbur waved at Tommy until the door carefully shut, then turned and unfurled his umbrella, a speckle of stale yellow and brown gliding across the glittering landscape with a smile on his face and a stolen cookie in his back pocket. Sighing, he noticed that he could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples. If he didn’t know any better—which he almost didn’t—Ghostbur would’ve thought that Tommy purposefully did things to try and trigger his memories. The other day, Tommy told him to light the candles and handed him one, and… and it was a candlestick that was long, and crimson, and it fit perfectly in his hand and looked so much like dynamite and—

Ghostbur stopped his train of thought there, tasting smoke and gunpowder on the roof of his mouth. It hurt, sometimes, to be near Tommy. But he couldn’t help himself. He was a moth drawn in by a flame. He wanted to get closer and behold all the light, even if doing so came at a personal cost. Maybe it was too expensive. Ghostbur didn’t really care. 

Carrying about his merry way, he began humming a strangely familiar tune he didn’t quite know the words to.

“ _There was once a special place_ ,” flittered from Ghostbur's indigo lips, joining the snowflakes in a hushed and whirling symphony. He tried thinking about the song to see if he could somehow finish singing it all, but he didn’t remember the rest of the lyrics, only the melody. He shook his head. He didn’t remember much anyway.


End file.
